He pulls my shirt over my head, and his mouth finds my collarbone, my shoulder, the hollow of my throat. His teeth graze my skin, and I gasp. His hands are everywhere â my waist, my hips, sliding lower to hook into the waistband of my underwear.
He pauses.
I lift my hips in answer.
He slides them down slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, and then his hand is between my thighs, and I stop breathing.
"Look at me," he says quietly.
I already am.
His fingers move against me slow at first, learning what makes my breath catch, what makes me grip his shoulders. He watches my face the entire time, reading every reaction, and when he finds the rhythm that makes me moan, he doesn't change it.
He keeps going, focused entirely on me.
I feel the power of it. Not power over him. Power with him. That he's choosing me completely.
His thumb circles and presses and I feel myself climbing toward something inevitable. My hands find his hair, his shoulders, anything to anchor myself.
"Theo," I breathe.
He makes a sound low in his throat, and the control I've always seen in him fractures completely.
He pulls his hand away and I almost protest until I feel him positioning himself between my thighs. He's still wearing hisjeans, so I reach for his zipper, fumbling with the button until he helps me, shoving them down just enough.
Then he's there, at my entrance, and he pauses.
"Adela."
Just my name.
Once.
In a tone I've never heard from him before.
I pull him down to me and kiss him. He pushes inside in one slow, devastating thrust that makes us both go still.
For a moment, neither of us moves. Just breathe together in the dark.
Then he starts to move.
Not slowly. Not carefully. Like something in him finally broke open and this is what was underneath â this raw, desperate need that he's been holding back since the library, since the coffee shop, since every moment we've stood close enough to touch and didn't.
I wrap my legs around his waist and meet him thrust for thrust. His mouth finds mine again and we kiss like we're trying to consume each other. His hand slides under my knee, hitching my leg higher, changing the angle, and I cry out against his mouth.
"Yes," he breathes. "Like that."
He moves faster, harder, and I feel myself climbing again, higher this time, closer to the edge.
His forehead drops to mine. His breathing is ragged. Every muscle in his body is tense with restraint that's barely holding.
"I can'tâ" he starts, and I feel him trying to slow down, trying to wait for me.
I reach between us, my fingers finding where we're joined, touching myself the way he did earlier.
His eyes go dark.
"Fuck," he breathes, and the control shatters completely.
